


All I Want For Christmas... Is Lube

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Christmas, Fruitcake, John in Afghanistan, Lube, M/M, Military, Military Kink, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, nobody fucks a cake I promise, okay well mine and not the characters'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Sholto proves himself adept at obtaining rare items in unusual circumstances--in this case, whiskey, fruitcake and real lube on a military base in Afghanistan. John Watson proves himself adept at using these rare items, particularly the latter, on a tent floor in Afghanistan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas... Is Lube

"Merry Christmas!” Sholto says, as he comes into their tent, “I have whiskey, and Jones' mum sent fruitcake, which he hates, so I have that too."  
"Fuck you." John is stretched out flat on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Christmas has never been his favourite holiday.

"If you insist. I also nicked the lube from the new medikit." Sholto sets the packet down on John's chest, then drops, gracefully as always, the great plonker, to the floor.

"Real lube? It must bloody be Christmas." John continues to stare, but his fingers twitch. It’s been ages since they’ve had anything but soap or spit. Sholto grins at him, and the fresh smell of his body makes John's mouth water.

“I’m a proper Santa Claus.” Sholto says, and dodges John’s grasp, “No, no. Fruitcake first.”

At least Jones’ mum is a good cook; her fruitcake has survived the trip out and is even still a little moist. The rum-plump raisins roll on his tongue like home.

It doesn’t take long to eat, though; he swallows a last hot gulp of whiskey and licks his lips. Sholto has finished, though he’s toying with his glass, and John watches him for a moment, takes him all in, before he pounces, leveraging the taller man back to the floor and kissing the whiskey off his mouth.

“You probably got up early and tore all the paper off your gifts right away, didn’t you?” Sholto mumbles into his mouth, but John can feel the curve of a smile. He also feels a hard hot length next to his own, which seems more urgent, so he doesn’t answer, just strips Sholto down. It’s not exactly businesslike; John spends just a little too much time unbuttoning and unzipping for that, but it isn’t long before Sholto is naked and on his knees.

“I did. But I was always very appreciative of them.” John pushes Sholto back on the floor, covering the long pale body with his own. He sinks his teeth into Sholto’s neck and rubs their clothed erections together. Sholto arches under him, his short gasps music to John’s ears. John begins to work him over, covering every sensitive spot with small bites, losing himself in the salt taste of skin.

Sholto is so quiet when he’s fully aroused, his eyes shut and his mouth slightly open. John sits back on his heels, enjoying the pinkness of his cheeks and chest, the throb of his cock along the flat belly. He longs to lean down and lick the shiny drops pooling in the dark blond hair around Sholto’s navel, but instead he holds back, though his own cock gives a pulse at the thought. Drizzling the lube on his fingers —so slick, it’s been so long—John caresses Sholto’s thighs instead, and they open for him.

John lets a little of the precious lube drop onto Sholto's arsehole and watches as it slides into the crevices of his body. Sholto sighs and relaxes more; John draws his thumb over the yielding entrance. It slips in almost too easily with the lube; he draws it out and pushes two fingers in instead, causing a slow tremor through his lover’s body. John presses close and rides it, then, emptying the packet into his hand, strokes his own cock.

He positions its fat head against Sholto’s soft, damp hole and waits for resistance, but there is none; he groans as his whole length slides in, unobstructed. Sholto exhales and stretches and they sink into a state of complete connection. John lets the feeling seep over him, his lips on Sholto’s chest.

Soon, though, they start moving, their bodies rocking gently at first. John feels Sholto’s urgency before his own, but he keeps him pinned to the rough tent floor, still only allowing their pleasure to rise in tiny increments. He pulls Sholto up a bit and kisses him, an awkward angle but he needs, now, to have their lips linked. Sholto breathes into his mouth, a wordless plea, and John pushes in, harder. Sholto falls back, and John finally grasps his cock, stroking it lightly. The last of the lube eases his movement, and Sholto begs, now, the sound pushing John to accelerate.

They come, miraculously, together, Sholto spurting over John’s hand as John, barely in control now, empties himself into Sholto’s slick arse. He collapses on Sholto’s sticky chest, and Sholto looks at the top of his head and smiles.

“All right, then?”

“Mmmf” is John’s only response.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
